


Venus Blue

by acidbathh, teef (acidbathh), tuberculosis_ (acidbathh)



Series: Bottlecaps [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: 2nd POV, CSA, DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), Other, Suicide Attempt, its kinda more like an afterthought, tbh you don't rlly need to know abt eddsworld to read this, vent - Freeform, written by someone else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidbathh/pseuds/acidbathh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidbathh/pseuds/teef, https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidbathh/pseuds/tuberculosis_
Summary: You hate summer.You lose time.Days pass by without you knowing.You're stressed out.





	1. Chapter 1

**July, 2019**

You space out. You can't hear conversations because they all sound muffled. Your vision is fading, blurring. It's dark and you swear that you can see static underneath everything you see. It makes you feel like you're in the matrix. Is this a dream? Are you real? Are the things around you real? No, it can't be. It's empty space.

You see yourself sitting in a chair at the breakfast table. You're staring down at a bowl of soggy cereal while someone talks to you, but you can't hear what they're saying. It doesn't matter, they're not real, anyways.

You feel light.

Your head feels like it's empty and your body feels like it's made of a cheap plastic bag you get at the checkout of the grocery store. Empty, light, flowing in the breeze. It feels amazing, in all honesty. To detach yourself from everything, even if you're not doing it intentionally. This is what people call dissociation. A detachment from yourself, reality and/or the things around you.

Most people do it. Like when they're driving home from work and they let their body take control with the power of muscle memory because they've done it so many times before. Most people dissociate naturally. But you do it more than them. You do it a lot. Almost every day, you have experiences like this. You dissociate. You have out of body experiences from dissociating so hard. You forget your name and where you are regularly. Your friends chalk it up to your drinking, but it's not because of that. You've been a fan of the drink since you were fourteen and you've probably never forgotten your name or where you were because you were drunk. Your dissociation is the underlying cause. A disorder of the brain. It's torn you apart inside to come back from a dissociative episode to find that you don't remember the entire day. To come to in rooms you don't remember walking in, to conversations you don't remember starting. Waking up to an unfamiliar bedroom, with an unfamiliar person at your side, calling you an unfamiliar name. Usually, it's Andy. You don't known anyone named Andy. Who is Andy? Who is Andy?

You snap back to reality when you realise that Matt has been waving his hand in front of your face for way too long. Edd and Tord are also looking at you. You look back and blink. It's awkward and quiet.

"You good?" Edd asks. You blink and nod, rubbing your eyes. "Yeah, 'm just tired, I guess." You reply. You are tired, but you don't know why. You had a full night's rest last night, and you slept well. But it's not a physical kind of tire, you're tired mentally. Your brain feel exhausted from processing so much information all the time. Your body aches for a second to lay down but you just woke up, and you haven't been doing anything at all that would make you feel this way. Why are you so tired? What's wrong with you? It feels like your brain hurts, just without the pain. The physical pressure of pain is there, but it doesn't hurt, it just makes you want to lie down. You need to lie down. You need rest.

"You really look it." Matt said. "Late night or something? You're haggard as hell." He chuckled. You shrug. You don't know why you're tired. "I guess." You reply, but you're lying. You look at your bowl of cereal and frown. "Man, it's all soggy now." You try to perk up more and seem more like yourself. You'd rather avoid situations like that again. You don't want people asking questions like you matter or something. "That's what happens when you're a dipshit." Tord says. You roll your eyes and go to the sink, opting for a cup of coffee instead of wasting more cereal. You don't feel good today. What's the date? Is it summer? You always get a kind of seasonal depression around summer. Unlike your tiredness, you know why you don't like summer. You don't like to think about it. You haven't told anyone about it. If everything goes your way, no one in your current life will know you were r-

"Tom, you're doing it again." Matt said. You jump, noticing that you were pouring coffee all over the kitchen counter, and it was overflowing your cup. It wasn't even hot, just vaguely warm, now. You yelp on instinct and jump to try and get some towels from the cabinet. From the table, you hear Tord made a snide comment. "I swear, his resting face is like he's getting Vietnam flashbacks." He laughs a little. You might as well be.

You clean up your mess and Edd tries to talk to you about it, but you brush it off as being tired. Edd knew that was bullshit. "You always get like this in the summer and you always shut us out when we try to help." He said. "What the hell is going on with you? Why do you get like this?" You shake your head. You know why. "I don't know." Liar. "I guess summer is just the worst season for me. Too hot, too sunny, too bright and cheerful and full of... Happy, singing children." You grimace jokingly. You do this thing where you think that you can get out of awkward situations by making jokes, and it works a surprising amount of the time, but when these summer months pile up over the years, patterns are noticed. When patterns are noticed, jokes stop working to get you out of situations you don't want to be in. You have to face the consequences of your actions. They might not be pretty, they might not be ideal, but things usually get better after the fact if you play your cards right. You know this, but you're doing everything you can to play your cards wrong because the crushing weight of guilt and shame and regret kills you every second of every day since childhood. You wouldn't know what to do without it, and you don't want to give it to someone else. You did that once and it was a mistake. They never looked at you quite the same way and right now, you need sameness. You need normalcy. Anything to get your mind off of everything. Off of what? There's nothing there. You're losing yourself again. You look at Edd in front of you and you question if he's real. He doesn't look like it. Right now, he looks like a bad CGI render or something. Like a person but off and you can't quite put your finger on it. You vaguely watch as he moves to pinch the bridge of his nose. He then claps in front of your face and that brings you back again. He looks irritated. You don't like making people angry, contrary to popular belief. It makes you feel sick and twisted inside.

You're desperate to have people like you. Just knowing that someone out there hates you makes you feel like someone made you drink acid. You feel it burning in your stomach and your lungs and the back of your mind when you think about it.

Edd then stopped looking irritated and sighed. "Just..." He said. "You can talk to me about shit, you know that right? If something's on your mind, just burst into my room and talk my ear off about it. I'm that friend, dude." He says. You know he's that friend. But this is different. He's not the friend you go to for deep, severe childhood scars that you don't know how to get through by yourself. He's not the kind of friend you talk to about that. But God, you wish he was. You wish so badly that he was the kind of person you could talk to about this stuff, because the one person you can talk to about this stuff, the only person you know who knows exactly what you're going through, is out of town on an important family emergency thing and you feel so utterly helpless and alone.

You opt for another lie.

"Dude, I'm just tired. It's not that deep." You reply, and he shrugs. "Alright, then." He says. You aren't off exactly scot free, but you have your weight for now. You'll keep it there for a while longer. You'll keep it as long as you can.


	2. Chapter 2

**July, 2020**

You're being pulled from somewhere. You can't feel anything. Your whole body is so numb that you can't even feel the biting winter cold. You're wet. You fade away.

Next thing you know, you're laying on something hard. You hear and see things around you but it's blurry and muffled and tastes like dirt. You can't quite figure out what's going on. You can barely move and you can't talk because something is covering your mouth. Oh. It's someone else's mouth. What the hell is happening? You aren't quite sure. Everything feels weird, and then everything starts to feel worse when you feel something in your lungs. It's moving up and you realize that you can't breathe. You try to inhale but whatever is in your chest is coming out. Someone helps you onto your side and you're coughing up something on the ground. It looks like black liquid to you. You don't know where you are. Your clothes are clinging onto you uncomfortably. You fade away again.

You're fading in and out of consciousness. You don't know what's happening around you. It feels like you're tied down, and that makes you panic a little but you don't have the energy to freak out about it physically. Everything around you is going in slow motion, yet it's going so fast at the same time that you can't keep up with anything. Wherever you are, it's bumpy. Your body also hurts quite a bit, but you can't move it or anything to see what the hell is going on. You feel achy. There's something over your mouth and you don't quite know what it is, but it's making your throat dry a little. Through your blurred vision, you see a field of green above you. You're so tired. You fade away.

The next time you wake up, it's in a bed. A hospital bed. You don't know how you got there.

It's day time. You don't know how long you've been out. When you sit up, some nurse looking guy comes to try and push you back down onto the bed to rest, and you can't really hear what he's saying because you're so dissociated and panic-y because you really fucking hate doctors and hospitals. You're too weak to fight back, though. Your whole body is sore and when you try to sit up, your arms shake and you feel like you're giving the last of your strength to do it. It doesn't feel good. You give in and decide to lay down. You pass out for a while longer. It's nice, even if the smells and sounds make you deeply uncomfortable.

When you wake up again, your friends are around you and you have this deeply sinking feeling in your chest. You honest to God don't know how you got here. You don't know what happened, but the looks on your friend's faces make you think they do, and whatever it is, it can't be good. You feel sick and twisted inside. You start dissociating a little again, and your friends look like bad CGI renders, but you can still hear them and you can hold onto that, you guess.

In that moment, a doctor walks into the room and dismisses your friends. They walk out and you take a deep breath. You try to compose yourself, but you're still feeling weak and incredibly tired and sore so you don't know exactly how well you can. The doctor sits across from you, and asks you a question. Everything is too bright and your vision is bad. You aren't quite sure what they said. "H- what?" You mumble. The doctor asks again. "Do you know why you're here?" You shake your head. "Can you tell me your name?" You nod, but don't say anything. It's a little hard right now. "What's your name?" The doctor appears to sit down. "T- Tom." You say. "Tom what?" "Tom Rose- Rosewood." You take a deep breath. Talking is hard right now. "What's the last thing you remember?" The doctor asks. You try to remember and use your mouth to communicate these things that you remember, but it's so hard. "Dunno." You say. "Water." "You remember water?" You nod, or you think you do. The doctor writes something on a clipboard. "Do you know what the significance the water holds?" They ask. You shrug, or you try to. "I don't know why, I just remember water." The doctor nods and writes something on the clipboard.

"You're here because of a suicide attempt." The doctor said. Wow. Holy shit. You don't remember trying to do that at all. That makes you panic. You could have died without knowing what you were doing. "Tom?" The doctor asks. "Do you remember trying to do this?" You shake your head. "Wasn't me." You say. "It wasn't me." The doctor leaned forwards. "What do you mean it wasn't you?" They ask. You shrug. "It wasn't me trying to die." "What do you mean?" You shift your position in the bed. "Dunno." You say. "Tom," The doctor says, coming closer in their chair. "Are you hearing voices at all? People or voices telling you to do things?" You shrug. "No more than what most people experience." You say. "And what is that?" "Y'know, parts of my brain getting together and getting into arguments. Like, one of them wants pizza for dinner the other one wants Chinese and they both get into an argument or something about it." You take a deep breath. "Or, like, you might hear this mean fuckin' voice in your head that's always being a shit to you, and sometimes it makes you do things." "Makes you do things like what?" The doctor's voice seemed to get more concerned. "You know," You say. "Like, it might kind of take control of your body almost and make you do shit you don't want to do." The doctor waved a hand for you to continue. "Like drink until you pass out or... Cut yourself." You pause on that last statement. You don't like admitting that.

"Tom, I want you to know that is not normal."

That makes your stomach twist up. Part of you know that it wasn't entirely normal, but the doctor seemed pretty certain in the fact that none of what you've recounted was normal in the slightest. "I recommend that we admit you to the psychiatric ward so we can figure out how to help you." You've been in these places before and it never really turned out well. "I don't want to do that." You say. "Well, right now it's required." The doctor says. Ah, you understood. It's one of those ploys where they try to make it seem like you have a choice so you'll agree with them and make it seem like it's on your own terms when it wasn't. You don't like this already. The thought of being in a place like that again made you sick. "I really don't want to do that." You say. You have to do it anyways.


	3. Chapter 3

**October, 2019**

You know you're unhealthy. Self-destructive. But hey, everyone has their poison. You have a few. Namely alcohol and one night stands.

You aren't exactly sure how you've managed to trick so many people into sleeping with you, somehow making them believe you're attractive and worth talking to, but you file that under the "ain't broke" section of your brain.

One night stands, hookups, they're a kind of self harm that takes it to a different level just because it feels good, too. Sometimes, if you manage to get things just right with the right person, you can pretty much act out your worst memories with them. It adds just a little bit of character to each hookup, makes it a little more painful.

It hurts, but the sex is good so you guess that makes up for it. It doesn't. It really doesn't.

Afterwards you take a long, hot shower that you like to pretend washes away all the shame and guilt and dirt you feel on your body. You wonder what your friends would think of you. They would probably hate it. You take a washcloth and you scrub your skin. It's already red from the hot shower, and now you scrub it raw to try and get the dirt off, but it doesn't work. The dirt stays. You are dirty. You can't get clean. You think about how none of your friends would really know what it's like to have this kind of stain on your skin, the kind that doesn't come off. You're so dirty. It makes you sick.

After the shower, you get dressed and bid adieu to your last night stand, and opt to walk home. It's much cooler now, it's October.

October. It's orange, spooky, cool. The air smells like spices and tastes like winter green. It feels like home. You pull up the scarf on your neck to cover more of your face as you walk. It's so nice to walk home sometimes, especially in the cool autumn-winter air like this. It's so comforting. So nice. You feel like you're giving in to something and you don't know what. It's just so comfortable. You see the edges of your vision blurring and darkening. You feel it coming on. Another one of those blackouts. You don't care, though, because you feel so warm and comfortable. Safe. You feel like you're lying down on the softest bed you've ever felt with the warmest blankets.

That's because you are. Kind of.

You open your eyes. You don't remember closing them. You turn in the bed you're laying in and find that you're in your room. You're wearing pajamas, and it's dark outside. Where did the day go? Did you sleep it away? You don't remember, but you don't find yourself caring all that much. You've never felt so safe and warm and comfortable and okay than you have right now and you don't want to waste this time feeling good by worrying about something that you have plenty of time to worry about later. You love this so much. You feel good.

You wake up the next day feeling surprisingly good and well rested. That's a fuckin' first. You don't remember ever feeling this good about anything and that immediately makes you anxious. All of those good feelings immediately wash away as you wonder just how bad you can fuck this up. You lay back down in bed for a while longer, debating if it's really worth it to get up. If you do, you run the high risk of losing this good feeling and doing something stupid that fucks with your friends, and you don't want to do that right now. You just want to lay down. You're so exhausted all of a sudden. How did you get so tired? You don't remember doing anything. You look out the window. It's evening. You're laying in bed fully dressed. You don't remember what you did today. Your anxiety suddenly gets worse. You don't know what's happening around you and you feel like you're losing control. You're stressing out, which makes the blackouts worse. You think it's because of your drinking but you have no way of knowing if you're drinking during these blackouts at all. Your friends talk to you more and bring up conversations you don't remember having and it makes you panic. Everything is stressful.

Everything is so incredibly stressful.


End file.
